Chapter 2

GRACE'S POV:

In the cab of the pickup on the way home, Caleb steered with one hand, his other resting on the console between us. He glanced at me, his expression carefully casual. "Grace, you know... Madison's anniversary is coming up in a few days."

I stared out the window, the familiar landscape of our ranch blurring past, my heart a dead weight in my chest.

"I know it's still a sore spot for you, that you don't like to think about it. Grandma and I will just stop by the cemetery for a bit. You should stay home and rest, okay?" His tone was gentle, condescending, the way you'd speak to a difficult child.

For the past five years, he'd used the same excuse, the same tone, to leave me at home on that day. And like a fool, I'd been grateful for his "thoughtfulness."

"Okay," I whispered. My voice was so calm it scared me.

My easy agreement seemed to dissolve his last shred of anxiety. At the next red light, he turned to me, leaning in to kiss my forehead-his usual reward for my compliance.

The moment his lips neared my skin, I flinched away.

He froze.

The air in the truck thickened, suddenly charged and heavy.

"I... I'm feeling a little carsick," I stammered, digging my nails into my palm. The sharp sting was the only thing keeping me upright, keeping me from screaming.

Back at the house, I made an excuse about wanting juice and sent him to the kitchen. The second he was out of sight, I walked straight into his office. It was a room I rarely entered. Not because it was forbidden, but because he'd always been so open, so trusting. He never hid anything from me, and that very transparency had made me feel secure.

The irony was a bitter pill.

I tapped the power button on his computer. The screen flickered to life, and a single image burned itself onto my retinas.

It was a photo of Caleb, Madison, and Wyatt. They were standing in a field of sunflowers, Caleb holding the boy, Madison leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. The sun gilded their hair, their smiling faces. It was a portrait of pure, unadulterated happiness.

It was his desktop background.

My breath hitched. My fingers trembled as I moved them to the keyboard, typing a short string of numbers into the password field-Wyatt's birthday.

The computer chimed. Unlocked.

I clicked open the photo album. A tidal wave of images crashed over me. Wyatt's one-month celebration, Caleb holding him while my grandmother, Loretta, beamed at his side. A local father-son rodeo, Caleb patiently showing Wyatt how to sit on a pony. Countless weekends spent at Madison's luxurious ranch-barbecues, pool parties, picnics.

My grandmother, Loretta Blackwood, was in most of them. The look of pure, unconditional love on her face as she held Wyatt was an expression I had never once received. She wasn't my grandmother. She was theirs.

I remembered an interview Caleb gave to a ranching magazine last year. He'd looked straight into the camera and said with that earnest charm of his, "I love my family. They're my everything."

I finally understood. I was never the family he was talking about.

I sat there in his leather chair, a hollow shell, until my phone vibrated in my pocket.

A text from an unknown number.

"Long time no see, Grace. See how much your husband and grandmother love me and Wyatt? Stop dreaming. Everything that belongs to the Blackwoods, including Caleb, will be mine. Oh, by the way, my horse farm's anniversary party is tomorrow. Why don't you come see how your husband spends his time with his real family?"

It was signed: Madison.

At that exact moment, the office door swung open. Caleb stood there, a glass of juice in his hand and a gentle smile on his face.

"Hey, honey. I might have to go out of town tomorrow. Just a quick trip to check on the north pastures. I'll probably be back late."